


The Rugby Union

by amberbamba



Series: Manipulative Harry/Oblivious Liam Series [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Hurt Liam, M/M, proposal fic, schmoopyest schmoop that ever schmooped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberbamba/pseuds/amberbamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry’s playing the long game, Niall breaks Liam’s ribs, and Liam has a sobbing mess of Harry on him with no idea why. Then there’s a proposal.</p>
<p>Can be read as a stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rugby Union

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely no knowledge of Rugby Union is required to understand this fic. 
> 
> Don't forget to check out [liam_harry ](http://liam-harry.livejournal.com/) on Livejournal.

This is how it starts:

“My Liam? You’re going to play rugby with my Liam?” Harry tries not to sound too incredulous, but he’s seen Liam’s Sunday rugby team play many-a-time, and it’s a bit like sending a happy lamb into a cave full of bears; waving goodbye and smiling.

“Yes,” Niall harrumphs for the third time, not impressed with Harry’s reaction.

“Do you think that’s a good idea? He’s very good.” He wished he knew how to be subtle. 

“ _I’m_ very good,” Niall insists, looking over at Louis, who’s leaning on the mixing board, for back-up, but he just raises his hands and makes a ‘nothing to do with me’ face. 

“No, but not just Sunday footballer, high-school rugby team, good - Liam’s really amazing. And the guys he plays with get really rough and dirty. Which is fine for Liam, cause he’s all big and muscly and tough and good at sports, but you’re, y’know… dainty.” 

“I’m not dainty! You are.” There’s a pregnant pause as the non-joke washes over the room.

“Good one.”

“And may I remind you, Liam asked me if I wanted to make up the team; he must think I’m good enough.”

“Maybe. He’s really nice, you know?” Harry hints, trying to remind Niall that Liam was polite enough to ask someone to join him in acid rain, just in case they felt like taking a walk.

“Look, how bad is it going to be? A quick game of Rugby in the park on a Sunday morning, with a bunch of lads who spend the week in an office. Piece of cake. I’m not some div-kid who gets to be the mascot out of pity.”

“Right. I’m sorry, you’re right,” Harry concedes, taking another bite of the kebab in his hand. “You go and have fun.”

Niall just rolls his eyes at both of them and slips into the recording booth, positioning his headphones over his ears and motioning to Max that he’s ready.

Harry immediately turns to Louis, jumping down from the desk he’s sitting on.

“Cover for me.”

“Why?” 

“I have to go and make sure Liam doesn’t eat Niall.”

 

Which is how they end up here; Harry and Louis standing shoulder to shoulder on the sidelines of a soaking wet, muddy, rugby pitch in the freezing cold, watching as Liam and Niall slip and slide around in the mud, grappling for a ball and colliding with each other. 

And not in a fun way.

Louis is shivering inside a lambskin coat, feeling like the saddest WAG ever, while Harry cheers and grins behind a pair of sunglasses beside him, looking like bloody Posh Spice at the World Cup. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he grumbles into his scarf, as Harry uses his phone to snap a picture of Liam in a scrum from an angle that shows nothing except a nice arse in tight shorts.

“I’m a very good boyfriend,” Harry smiles. His nose is pink with cold and he whistles loudly when Liam catches the ball and runs somewhere to do… something.

“That’s not why you’re here. You’re all horny watching Liam get sweaty and dirty and beating people up. I don’t think for a second you’d be out here at 9 am on a Sunday in November, if this wasn’t porn for you.”

“No, we’d still be in bed making our own porn,” Harry chuckles, delighted at Louis smacking him with an Armani mitten and swearing profusely in disgust.

Thankfully, Liam scores a try before Harry can taunt him any further. 

He rips off his shirt and runs the circumference of the field with it flying above his head as their side cheers; Harry in paroxysms, screaming how he’s the second coming of Jonny Wilkinson except much more delicious. The other saddos who’ve been forced out to watch their friends and significant others play laugh, as though they are endlessly charmed and amused by him, as people are wont to do around Harry.

Liam finishes his victory lap in front of Harry; collects him in his arms and snogs him theatrically on the side lines, making Harry smile ecstatically against his mouth, not caring that he was getting mud and sweat all over him. Louis gags and half-heartedly meets the high-five Liam gives him, still holding Harry up with one arm in a disgusting display of athleticism. 

Liam puts his shirt in Harry’s hands and assaults him with another series of kisses. 

Louis just catches, “Hurry up and win so I can take you home and scrub you down,” before he notices that one of their rank of poor unfortunates – he thinks Harry introduced her as Jessica - has opened a thermos of tea, and he leaves to try and steal some.

He returns shortly; Jessica having been very generous and providing plastic cups of tea for the both of them, although it seemed more for Harry’s benefit than his. She also sent him with biscuits for them both, but he eats Harry’s. Sod him. He’s having the time of his life; jumping up and down, laughing with everyone, holding random children on his hip and pointing out their fathers as they run around the pitch, generally being the life of this particular miserable party. 

He doesn’t even flinch when it starts to drizzle, just throws his beanie on and accepts an umbrella from Victor, who Harry cheerfully tells Louis is the father of Justin and Toby from the other team.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” he mutters petulantly, as Harry huddles with him under the massive rainbow-coloured monstrosity, 

“You should be cheering for Naill, y’know, that’s what you’re here for.” He sips his tea and waves at Jessica in thanks.

“No, I’m here for when he gets hurt and needs a ride home. I also came cause you promised me he was going to be a spaz and I wanted a laugh. You’re a fat liar and I hate you.”

“Yeah, maybe I didn’t give him enough credit - he’s holding his own. Once again Liam’s niceness and faith in people pays off, I suppose.”

And because the universe _loves_ irony, that’s when Liam jumps for the ball and takes a head-on body check from Niall that seems to shatter through the air around them, making everyone on and around the pitch hold their breath. Liam’s whole mid-section flies up and he appears suspended in mid-air for a second before he drops like a sack of potatoes onto his back, head bouncing on the ground like a fallen Ping-Pong ball. 

Harry stops breathing next to him – hand dropping the cup and darting out to grab onto his forearm and squeeze - as the other players circle around, flipping Liam onto his side and calling his name. 

He doesn’t get up.

 

The car ride had been stressful. 

Harry was vibrating with tension; biting his tongue so he wouldn’t just lose it and yell at Louis to fucking go faster, go in the bus lane, why did he care about a fine, they were rich and Liam was in a fucking ambulance going to a hospital!

He managed to keep it together, barely. It wasn’t Louis’ fault that Liam had been hurt. 

It _was_ Niall’s, however, which is why he got a barrage of abuse in the backseat - Harry only ceasing when Louis squeezed his knee soothingly, giving one parting shot of, “You broke my boyfriend. This is why I never let you touch my stuff!”

They hadn’t been allowed to ride in the ambulance with Liam. He didn’t know why, but it was stupid. This whole thing was so stupid - racing to St. Marys where they said Liam would be like they were involved in a road-trip buddy comedy, except less fun. None of this was fun.

He feels like he’s going to be sick actually.

They run into the emergency room together, having a moment at the door where they all try and get through at the same time and get stuck. Harry wants to laugh hysterically - he _feels_ hysterical, cause the man he loves was just put into an ambulance half-conscious, and the three of them have spent the entire trip here re-enacting a French farce.

He runs ahead to the admittance desk. The only nurse is talking to someone and Harry’s bordering on panic now, racing around to the wards to try and find any sign of Liam. He hears someone telling him he can’t come back here but he couldn’t possibly care less. He zeros in on a nurse exiting a room, holding a clipboard and what looks like a blood sample in a plastic bag.

“Hello, hi, excuse me,” he pants, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her to face him. He knows he must look anxious right now, but he doesn’t feel it deserves the level of terror she’s displaying - especially considering she’s an emergency nurse. 

“I’m looking for Liam Payne, they said he’d been brought here. He got hurt playing rugby; he’s tall, shaved head, tattoos on his arms, and oh Christ, that makes him sound scary but he’s not - he’s sweet and lovely and he would have been really polite and probably apologised for putting you all out, and he’s topless cause he scored a try so he took his shirt off and he does that sometimes and…” 

He looks down, notices he still has the shirt clutched tightly in his hands from where Liam gave it to him before; clinging to it like if he holds it tight enough he can keep him where he’s supposed to be - anchor him down to the living. 

He looks back up when he realises the nurse is speaking.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asks. He’s unable to make his brain latch on to anything coming out of her mouth quick enough.

“I said, are you immediate family?” She’s speaking slowly like he’s a lost child that doesn’t speak English, and he would be offended if he didn’t feel like he was blind drunk and drowning at the same time.

“I’m his boyfriend,” he manages to choke out, thinking how insignificant that term sounds for what Liam is to him. 

“I’m sorry sir, but it’s immediate family only.” 

“I _am_ his immediate family! I immediately wake up with him every morning and immediately go to bed with him every night. We immediately live together, and we immediately go on holiday twice a year. I immediately love him, so WHY CAN’T I SEE MY BOYFRIEND!” Harry shouts hysterically. He realises the tugging on his sleeve is Louis pulling him back.

“Sir, you’ll have to calm down or security will escort you out. Mr Payne is being seen to now, but you can wait in the front until he’s been treated and visit him then,” the nurse insists, nervously directing the comment to Louis. 

Louis tries to lead him away, but Harry slips out from his grip, striding back to the nurse and snatching her clipboard. 

He smashes it to his chest with Liam’s shirt so she’ll have to _stay and listen_. He looks at her intently, speaking as slowly and as clearly as he can possibly manage with his voice wobbling, feeling like he’s going to _break_. 

“You need to be careful with him cause he only has one kidney – ONE, he has no spare - and if you give him too many fluids he gets sick and he could d-die, oh my god,” he feels like collapsing, leaning heavily on Louis. “He’s allergic to bees, and if you pull his ear he always wakes up, _always_ , so if he’s not getting up, DO THAT. And tell him I’m here, please just, even if he’s not awake tell him I’m right outside if he needs me, tell him I’m right here.”

He doesn’t realise he’s started crying until Louis pulls him in, rests his head on his shoulder and wipes his face with the backs of his fingers. At some point he must pry the clipboard away and give it back to the mean nurse, because he’s pulled them over to chairs and they’re hugging tightly, Harry sobbing into his coat.

“I can’t believe this,” he croaks after a while, face feeling puffy and raw as he wipes it with the tissue Louis passes him.

“He plays a lot of sport Harry, he was bound to get injured sooner or later,” Louis soothes him, rubbing a hand over his back.

“No, not that, _this_! I’ve been trying to get him to propose for _ages_.” Harry runs a frustrated hand through his hair, tugging until it’s standing up manically. “I keep dropping hints over dinner and walking us past ring shops, talking about what we’ll do _after_ we’re married. When Zayn proposed to Perrie in front of all of us, I thought it would make him think about it, but he just said, ‘that was nice, wasn’t it?’ when we went to bed that night!”

Louis laughs into his shoulder.

“And now when it matters, I can’t see him - all because he’s a stupid idiot who can’t take a hint. Oh no, he’s not an idiot - he’s lovely, I love him. Oh god Louis, what if he dies and I just said he was an idiot…” Harry had never had a panic-attack, but he suspected this was what one felt like. He couldn’t breathe. 

“Harry settle down, he’s not going to die. It’s a rugby injury, you’re really overreacting here.”

“I don’t care if he doesn’t marry me, but _I_ need to be the one that takes care of him. I need to be in there Louis, I just want to be in there…”

“I know, Haz, and you will be, just calm down a bit first. You know it will upset Liam to see you like this.” It’s a cheap ploy - but a good one, so Harry tries to pull himself together for Liam’s sake. 

“Where’s Niall?” he asks after a few minutes, when he notices he hasn’t seen him since they came in.

“Hiding out by the ambulance bay. I think he thinks you hate him.”

Harry sighs, upset with himself. “Of course I don’t hate him, go and bring him inside.”

Niall arrives with his tail between his legs, looking like he’s expecting a punch. 

It makes Harry feel like shit.

More than he already does.

He stands up and catches Niall in a massive bear hug, holding him tightly, both of them aware it’s as much for Harry’s benefit as for Niall’s. They don’t say anything, just sit back down, huddling together like newborn birds waiting for their mother to come home.

“I called Zayn and let him know what happened. He’s on his way,” Naill informs them quietly, fiddling with them hem of the filthy t-shirt he’s still wearing.

“That’s great, Nialler, thanks. Fuck, I should call Liam’s mum,” he realises, reaching for his phone. He manages to unlock it and scroll down to her name before it hits him – “Oh Christ, what am I going to say to her?”

“Just tell her what happened,” Louis prompts, shouldering him in the arm.

“How? How am I supposed to tell her over the phone that her sons been injured when I don’t even know what’s going on? What am I going to say when she asks how he is, and I don’t know…” he’s worked up again, but now he has someone on both sides of him, rubbing calming hands over his back. “What am I going to do Louis? Liam takes care of this stuff; I don’t know how to do these things without him here.”

“We wait Harry. That’s all we can do right now. We just sit here together, and wait.”

 

They wait for a long time. 

It’s 2 pm when a doctor finally comes out to see Harry, and he introduces himself as the Chief of Staff. Considering the waiting room is now overtaken by members of their PR team, studio execs, and their manager - taking rapidly and loudly on their phones, Harry knows it has everything to do with the hospital having had a severe talking to, the highlight of which presumably being, ‘do you know who I am?”

“How’s Liam, is he okay?” he asks anxiously. He’s trying to be polite under the circumstances, but he’s not feeling all that charitable.

“Your partner’s doing remarkably well, Mr Styles. He’s awake and lucid for the moment.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” He shakes an apologetic hand at the doctor, but he smiles. 

“He received a significant blow to the back of the skull which resulted in a concussion, but we’ve taken MRIs which showed no bleeding into his brain. He should be back to his normal self after a few weeks of bed rest and painkillers. There may be some memory loss, confusion and headaches, in the meantime. I’ll write up notes for his treatment that we’ll give to you on his release, so you can watch for any signs of relapse and know when he’s pushing himself too hard, or if he needs to come back in.

“His ribs, on the other hand, have been - I think crushed would be an accurate description.” 

Niall makes a sound behind him that he can’t even process. 

“We’ve bound them up, but he’s going to be in significant pain, and have limited mobility and breathing for a good while. We’ve medicated him, and we’ll keep him in overnight for observation, but he should be free to leave tomorrow, as long as he doesn’t overdo it. Apart from a few lacerations and colourful bruises that’ll impress everyone, that’s everything. You can see him now, he’s asking for you.”

Harry breathes out a sigh of relief, vaguely aware he’s the centre of a group hug for a brief moment, before Zayn’s pushing him to follow the doctor back to the ward.

 

When he enters Liam’s room, he’s lying on his back, prodding at his shoulder gingerly and wincing. 

He looks like he’s been hit by a truck.

Harry can feel himself start to cry.

Before he can even begin to control himself, he’s franticly crawling all over Liam, letting his tears drip onto his face. 

“It was so stupid Liam, they wouldn’t let me see you, or tell me if you were okay, and it’s all cause were not married, which is not my fault, you know, I’ve been dropping hints all over the place to get you to propose, but you don’t _get_ it – you NEVER get it! – but you _have_ to marry me now Liam, just to make sure I can take care of you, cause I’d _die_ if anything happened to you Liam, I would, I love you so much, I don’t know what I’d do, I don’t know…” he breaks off into sobs and a seriously confused Liam gathers him in as best he can, pressing kisses to his hair.

“Shhh, baby, it’s ok. It’s fine, I’m fine, see?” he gestures to himself to prove he’s alive, but all Harry can see are the large bruises welling up from the edges of his bandaged ribs and the angry scrape on his shoulder. 

He starts crying again.

“No, no Harry! I’m going to be alright. It was just an accident, people get hurt playing sports all the time, I promise I’m okay,” he tries to reassure him, pushing Harry’s hair behind his ears, and Harry just has to hug him, so he unthinkingly puts his arms around him and squeezes.

“Broken ribs! Broken ribs!” Liam yells, pushing Harry to his side and gritting his teeth in pain. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” Harry tries desperately to do something - _anything_ to help, but all he can manage is patting Liam awkwardly on his knee, the only part of him he can see that’s not injured.

“No, no, it’s fine. It was an accident, I’m okay.” He’s clearly not, and the fact that he’s trying to make Harry feel better for hurting him when he’s so beaten up makes Harry love him just a bit more.

He presses a soft kiss to Liam’s chest and lays his head on the pillow next to him, snuffling into his shoulder as he tries to get comfortable again.

Liam’s breathing evens out after a short while, and he turns his head into Harry’s, letting their lips brush and their breath intermingle as they lie together.

“Is Niall okay? I hope he doesn’t think it was his fault,” he asks, biting down gently on Harry’s bottom lip.

“He’s outside with the others. I yelled at him in the car, but we made up. He was really helpful actually, he called everyone and let them know what was going on - he even went back to the flat to feed the cat.”

“Good.”

They’re silent again for a while, and Harry watches the IV steadily drip into Liam’s hand, kissing him softly when it makes him feel like crying.

“What were you saying about me needing to marry you before?” Liam questions. Now he’s calmed down, Harry feels slightly foolish.

“They wouldn’t let me come with you in the ambulance or tell me what was going on, cause you’re not my husband. I might have freaked out and verbally assaulted a nurse,” he mumbles into Liam’s neck.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that today. I know it wasn’t fun.” He rubs their noses together.

“No Liam, it wasn’t fun, but it was real life. And the whole time I was waiting for them to let me see you, all I could think was, ‘he’s not just my boyfriend, he’s so much more than that, and I deserve – I _need_ – to be in there with him’. It’s where I belong Liam - with you, no matter what happens.”

Liam smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling up, and Harry’s so happy to see it again he almost melts.

“Do you want to get married?” Liam bumps their foreheads together, still grinning wildly, and Harry really hopes it’s not the drugs making him say this.

“Ask me properly,” he giggles, hiding his face in Liam’s shoulder so he can’t see the uncontrollable smile that’s splitting his face in two.

“Harry, you clearly think I’ve taken my time getting round to this,” he begins, solemnly.

“Fuck yes… no, no!” he corrects himself quickly, off Liam’s mock offended glare.

“I know I don’t always see things clearly. Get it right away. But I love it when I’m sitting on the sofa and you come and snuggle up to me. I love it when you’re nervous or worried and I’m the only one you want to talk to. I love it when you’re upset and I’m the only one that can make you smile. And I don’t know how I do that, but I want to be the only one that does it for the rest of our lives. I don’t know how long I’ve been in love with you, but the way I feel now is the way I felt when we met, so it’s probably been since the second I saw you, and I really don’t know how I’d be able to live the rest of my life without you in it. You’re the sweetest, funniest, sexiest person I’ve ever met, and you take care of me.”

Harry giggles through his tears at the outrageousness of that statement, amazed that was how Liam saw their relationship. As if Harry took care of _him_.

“I never have, and I never will, love anything as much as I love you Harry Styles. Will you please marry me?” 

Harry’s crying again, but Liam’s thumbing away his tears, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Are you saying that cause you’re high and have a concussion?” Harry chuckles into his mouth. 

“Of course not.”

“Then hold that thought and ask me again when you’re not on hospital grade painkillers and coming down from a near death experience. And there should be candles and you should be down on one knee. I’ll say yes then. I promise.”

He does.


End file.
